Soft Touch
by Marchioness of Blackadder
Summary: Belle startled at the offending noise, and Gold laughed. When he spoke, his voice was low, rumbling and yet soft. "Gentle now, lass," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "She needs a soft touch."


**A/N: Hello, all! I'm not a new author, but this is the first time I'm posting any of my OUAT fanfiction here. I usually haunt Tumblr, where I have most of my OUAT stories put up. But I wanted to put up my my two favorite pieces, since I hadn't posted anything for Rumbelle here yet. Honestly, this is my favorite thing I've written. Not saying it's any good, but God it was fun to write. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it.**

**Soft Touch**

Magic was alight in the air like firecrackers. All of Storybrooke could feel it, sense it, even if they couldn't understand it. The pleasantly warm summer day was rich in sunshine with the calmest and coolest of breezes. Life was thick and lush and whole in the small Maine town, everything verdant and awake. One could close their eyes, let the wind rifle through their hair, feel the sun kiss their skin, and never believe in such things as curses.

Even Mr. Gold felt it. The quiet pawnbroker often resided in the mysterious shadows of his antique shop, or perhaps spent his evenings in solitude in his restored Queen Anne, unbothered by the problems of the multitudes trembling at the whispers of his name. But this day, he sat on his porch with his shirt sleeves rolled back on his forearms, reclining on a dark whicker loveseat, his weak leg stretched and relaxed. He knew it was a special day when his leg wasn't in pain.

The breeze and the sun mingled in the air together, and it was something tantalizing. Nature knew change was coming, slowly awakening the dismal, the hopeless, the lost. Mr. Gold smiled to himself as he watched the pines ruffle in the breeze as he thought of Emma, who was no doubt responsible. She'd been the hand that turned the clock, and surely chaos would follow. And Gold reveled in chaos- he profited from it, after all. But for today, he was content to sit and watch the town awaken with the sparkling summer day.

"Mr. Gold?"

He knew the voice before he could see her- why hadn't he seen her? She had been right there- and he felt his heart constrict tight in his chest. Something fluttered in the pit of his stomach as he turned his head, his eyes resting on her.

_Ah, a child of summer._

Belle stood at the foot of his porch steps, wearing a soft white blouse that hugged her waist and silhouetted her curves and a pair of khaki shorts. Her thick chestnut curls were down around her shoulders, only pinned to keep out of her face. She seemed exhilarated like she'd just been laughing, the telltale flush to her cheeks and the dancing of her eyes giving her secrets away.

Gold swallowed hard and sat up. "Miss French," he greeted softly. He felt winded. The sight of her alone, even after her resurrection- no, her _revealing_- still stole his breath. He'd seen her a few dozen times from afar in town buying flowers, eating at Granny's Diner, reading at the library, but he had never approached her. He couldn't, but oh _God_ how he'd wanted to. There had been nothing more in the world he had wanted more than to drop his cane, sink to his knees, wrapping his arms around her, and press his face into her stomach and whisper a thousand years' worth of all he should have said and never did.

Belle's smile glittered, slowly walking up the porch steps, her sky eyes flittering over the house. "Your home is beautiful," she said.

"Thank you," he murmured, watching the sway of her body as she moved closer. "It's quite old, though."

"Oh, but those are the best. They have such wonderful stories."

Gold smiled gently at her, taking the moment to stare until she finally looked at him and reached her hand out. She held a small white envelope, fat with money. "This is Ruby's rent," she explained. "I was at the diner, and I'd mentioned walking to the park. Your house was on my way, so I offered to bring it for her."

Gold took the envelope, careful that his fingers wouldn't brush hers. "Well, I- I'm glad you did," he murmured, suddenly regretting them. He'd only meant to think it, but he had never known, even in the fairytale, how to guard himself around her. He built his walls and towers around himself, and Belle never even scaled them. She simply walked through, as if there were none to begin with. It had always been unnerving and uncomfortable, and for some reason one of the most satisfying things he'd ever experienced, her way of unraveling him effortlessly.

Belle glanced down at her toes, painted pale pink and dancing in a pair of strappy sandals above the tenderest of ankles. Gold had often day dreamed of those ankles. She was bashful, blushing, whole, and lovely. There was the sweetest moment of quiet, of just being in the same space again that Mr. Gold found his heart roaring in his ears. _She's here and real and for _me_._

But that wasn't true, because Gold had purposefully stayed away. He refused himself her sunshine and her smile, gripping his cane and his darkness tighter every time. It had been him who had driven her away, had ruined her and broken her in their fairytale, in the world that was supposed to be happily-ever-after. He refused to be that creature here. Within the confinements of the curse, it would only be worse. _Preventative cause,_ he had told himself.

Her heart was worth more to him whole than his was chipped.

Belle looked up at him, biting her lower lip as if she were about to share the dearest of secrets, before her eyes glanced away toward the window that bared his living room- stopped- and she let out a gasp. "Oh-!"

Gold jumped, and Belle suddenly hurried away- and into his house.

_She went into his house._

Gold saw her shadow through the window and had just worked himself to standing when she reemerged with a very interesting find in her hands. He instantly relaxed since it wasn't a weapon (normally) or incriminating evidence. "What?" he asked, tilting his head.

Belle was shining, ready to burst with delight. "Is it yours?" she asked, holding it up. Her eyes made of sky studied it.

Gold chuckled. "Well, it's in _my_ house."

"Oh, please- please-" she suddenly offered it to him.

Gold raised his eyebrows at her. "You want me to-?"

"Yes, please!"

Reluctantly, he took it from her, sighing. "Well…" he couldn't say no. Didn't have a reason to, but he had never refused her anything. Except the most precious thing she'd ever offered him.

"Go fetch it for me, then."

Another grin of joy sent a flutter in his stomach, and Gold looked down at the bow in his hands, his slender fingers caressing it. Belle hurried back out, holding the cello with both hands around the neck. "It's not as heavy as I expected," she said, standing it beside him. Gold took it from her, and she sat down beside him on the loveseat, which made him sit up straighter.

"Mine's a smaller scale," he explained, nodding to his weak leg. "Easier to handle with this bum."

Belle folded her feet underneath her, smiling expectantly. Gold paused, then glanced self-consciously at her.

"What do you want me to play?"

"Oh, anything," she said softly.

"Let me see what I can do," he murmured. He usually practiced in the evenings, more out of boredom than desire. His fingers were dexterous, articulating the strings flawlessly. He could have used magic, but he didn't need to after playing for so many years. And yet suddenly he felt nervous with Belle watching him so closely, so excitedly.

Gold breathed deep the smell of honeysuckle and summer fruit and laid bow to string. The tune was languorous and melancholy, like flower petals kissing water. The curving lower tones swept up to the wistful high notes, romantically intertwining somewhere in the middle. Out of the corner of his eye, Gold noticed Belle go very still, and when the song finished and he looked upon her again, her smile had all but fallen away. A moment of anxious panic seized him.

When she didn't speak, he finally prompted, "Is… something wrong?"

"Yes," she said softly, tilting her head. "Why was it so sad?"

Surprise lifted his brow. "Well… you said 'anything.'"

"Play something happier. You seem so far away from me when you look so sad," she said, laying her hand on his knee. "Please?"

_Ah yes, the child of summer wished for joy_. He should have guessed, the day sparkling with magic. "Anything you want," he murmured, his eyes fallen to her hand on his knee. It was torn from him; he could never refuse her again. She had her own magic, and he was powerless against it.

"Could you-" She stopped, biting her lower lip again. Gold found his eyes drawn to it, swallowing hard.

"Go on."

"Could you… teach me?"

Gold looked at her sharply, and then realized with a trembling heart she meant the cello. "Of course I can," he breathed in relief and surprise.

"Oh, show me!" she begged, moving closer. Her bare knee brushed his, her perfume carried in the breeze as she moved closer. All thoughts of repose of their past, the caution and the safety of distance evaporated with that gentle wind.

"I've got a better idea," he said. "Come here."

Belle stood up and Gold gently brought her around so she sat in front of him, her thighs flush with his, her warm back pressed to his chest and her thick chestnut hair tickling his nose. He showed her how to properly hold the instrument, his hands ghosting up her arms and delicate wrists to cup her petite hands, placing one on the neck and the other on the bow. His fingers laid close over hers, and being so close and gentle and real, he felt his heart quicken. But perhaps that was hers, too.

Gold directed her hands, holding the strings and bringing the bow back and forth, their knees tight together. He saw her biting her lip again, her brow puckered in concentration. Then, a screech.

Belle startled at the offending noise, and Gold laughed. He noticed her blush. His eyes were drawn to that warmth, the color blooming like roses under her skin. When he spoke, his voice was low, rumbling and yet soft. "Gentle now, lass," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "She needs a soft touch."

He felt her shiver, her back relax into his chest and her fingers loosen. _She always was a quick learner_. He grinned into her hair and began the song again, this time flawless. The tune was a rush of fluid, wistful notes like the gathering of butterflies in his stomach, and Gold closed his eyes, listening as the music glittered in the summer air, a magic all its own. A quick series of notes surprised her when she didn't feel them in the melody, and he heard her soft intake of breath.

When the pace relaxed, so did she, leaning back against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and continued moving his fingers over hers on the neck, pressing the strings with the most delicate of touches. His heart hitched in his chest with emotion when he heard the sweetest soprano singing with the wordless melody. Gold _remembered_ her voice, had dreamed of its sound laughing, whispering, and sighing.

The bow moved as if it possessed a life of its own, and Gold and Belle's arm moved as one, even breathed the same rhythm, the gentle swaying movements raptured within the song. The melody slowly came to an end, the bow hovering over the last note filled with unspeakable depth.

The silence and utter stillness that followed was deafening, and Mr. Gold felt as if nature had stopped to listen to their song.

Belle hesitated, and then looked up at him, such wondrous awe in her eyes.

Eyes made of sky and warmth and _tears_.

"Why are you crying, dearie?" he whispered, cupping her face, just as a tear fell. He brushed it away with his thumb, his heart hurting to see her so enraptured in emotion, unbidden secrets in her eyes. _Speak them to me, love._

"That was beautiful," she murmured. Her eyes studied his face as if looking at him for the first time, and then he noted how close they were, how unbearably, wonderfully _close_. "What was it?" she asked.

Mr. Gold gently squeezed his hand that stayed cradled around hers. The summer air shimmered across the porch, magic sparkling and setting alight what he dared not wished for, what people were too frightened to name, but he knew magic well.

"I think," he murmured after precious moment. "That it's the sound of hope."

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews are appreciated. Thank you.**


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